


Step By Step

by NorroenDyrd



Series: The Weirdos of Thedas [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drabble Collection, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Non-Canon Relationship, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 02:57:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17459294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorroenDyrd/pseuds/NorroenDyrd
Summary: Tiny drabbles following the progression of the relationship between Loghain Mac Tir and Wendy Surana.





	1. Keeping Score

Arl Eamon rallies the Landsmeet as soon as Wendy Surana and her ragtag band of friends bring in the Circle mages to free his son from possession, and revive him with the Sacred Ashes. This means that the treaties demanding the aid of the Dalish elves and the Dwarves of Orzammar are yet to be invoked - and Wendy travels deep under the ridges of the Frostbacks and into the twisted, shadowy heart of the Brescillian forest in the company of a new Warden. The very man who tried to hunt them down. Loghain Mac Tir, disgraced and exile; a sullen stormcloud trailing at the very back of Wendy’s little caravan.

 

 

 

 

She has been watching him, with her big, keen eyes, dark and quick like a bird’s. She has been pricking up her ears upon hearing the tiniest hints of banter flickering between him and her other team mates. And she has been smiling tentatively into the broad sleeve of her mage robe - lilac, her favourite colour - every time this banter does not end in a mutual snarl.

 

 

She does it again just now, in the middle of a trek along a narrow woodland path, almost hidden under the swaying, intricately carved ferns. She perks up, even appearing to grow a fraction of an inch taller, when Zevran dramatically mimes how ‘terribly broken up’ he is over the failed ambush on the road from Lake Calenhad, which Loghain had hired him to set up. He even goes as far as to stage a whole affected fainting spree, aiming for Wynne’s bosom to rest on - and Loghain regards his performance with a twinkle of amusement in his steely eyes.

 

 

‘Aww,’ Wendy breathes out, a warm glow flooding her round cheeks, while her reagent-stained fingers play excitedly with her pigtails. The sound she makes is audible enough for Loghain to turn towards her, eyebrow quirked in wonderment.

 

 

'I… I hope I was not intruding! I was not meaning to, I am sorry!’ she hurries to apologize, after what looks like a rather painful bite at her lips.

 

 

'I am just… Glad to see you getting along with my friends. This is the third proper conversation you have been part of this week!’

 

 

'I was not aware you were keeping score,’ Loghain says, his voice somehow uneven.

 

 

Wendy makes a garbled sort of noise at the back of her throat and impulsively picks a fern off the side of the path.

 

 

'A… A good friend of mine once said,’ she mutters, picking the fern apart with jittery fingers. “The one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together”. And that is what I am… continuing to see to, even though… I lost him’.

 

 

'You need not waste your effort on my account,’ Loghain tells her dryly. 'I am not friendship material’.

 

 

'No,’ Wendy says, so abruptly that he has to look up at her again.

 

 

'That is not how I do things’.


	2. Warmth

When they pitch up camp, everyone erects their tents in a familiar pattern, clustering together with an instinctive knowledge of which little flapping triangle of burlap should go where. Here’s Leliana; and here’s Wynne; and Zevran too; and Morrigan, a little way off, but closer than when they just started out; and Oghren, whose section of the campsite is an abysmal, sprawling mess - which the other travellers fill kind of grateful for, because his heap of odds and ends (half-used bottles mostly) obscures the gaping empty spot where Alistair’s tent was supposed to be.

 

 

Loghain, however, settles away from everyone else; further than Morrigan, even. Hovering just barely within the golden circle of the campfire’s light, one side of his tent seemingly eaten away by the deep gloom where that merry, comforting gold does not reach. Noticing his choice of location, Wendy furrows her forehead and slips away, bringing a conversation with Leliana to a close with a vague, hasty nod and an absentminded smile.

 

 

‘If you are feeling unwelcome, I am so very sorry… ’ she begins, having strode up to Loghain with an abruptness that makes him start. 

 

 

The fact that her eyes reflect the firelight, glowing like two enormous pale orbs, does little to alleviate the tension that chains the new Warden, frozen in place with a blanket from his bedroll still clutched in one hand. And it is only her voice, soft and ever more tremulous as she goes on speaking, that puts him at ease.

 

 

‘You are part of my team just as much as anyone, and I will do my best to treat you as a comrade, not a prisoner…’

 

 

Loghain cannot contain a snort-like sound at the back of his throat.

 

 

‘Comrade is far too hefty a word for what… I’m being kept around as. You and I both know it,’ he says, curling his lips.

 

 

Wendy arches her eyebrows. 

 

 

‘We are all sworn to fight the Blight now. I would much rather we went for the darkspawn’s throats, not each other’s’.

 

 

‘I won’t argue with that’.

 

 

This time, Loghain’s lips set into something that is a bit closer to a smile. A wry, dark smile - but a smile nonetheless.

 

 

Seeing that, Wendy breathes a sigh of relief - which promptly turns into a shudder. It is quite nippy beyond the immediate reach of the campfire, and she never did get used to the whims of the weather outside the Circle walls.

 

 

Loghain squints at her - and, without closer hesitation, throws his blanket over her narrow shoulders.

 

 

‘Here’, he says. ‘If you are wasting your time on keeping me company, might as well keep you warm’.

 

 


	3. Don't

The tiny green wisp slips beneath the bandage, fuzzy and nimble like a kitten that can find its way through even the tightest spots; there is a soft ripple of light, sparkling fresh and crisp through the gaps in the coarse, crusted cloth - and then, it all fades, and Loghain is left frowning down silently at his shield arm, which hangs in a sling against his bared chest.

 

'That ought to help with the scar itching,' Wendy Surana says brightly - and then, looking up into his face, adds on an impulse, eyes enormous like dark starry pools. 'Thank you for standing in front of me in that fight. I...'

 

She munches her last words down into an awkward, incoherent mush; swallows with a no less awkward gulp; and, her ear tips crimson as the leaves in autumn, leans towards him and plants a kiss on his cheek.

 

Something flares in Loghain's eyes - a ray of light dancing off the jagged ice - but when he speaks, his voice is brusque and hoarse.

 

'Please don't do that again'.

 

Wendy, who is already on her feet, back more rigid than the metallic staff she is carrying, inhales sharply and blurts out,

 

'Yes. Of course. I... Excuse me, I think I heard Morrigan call me... Got to go... Discuss... witchy... things...'

 

The words he said still ring on in Loghain's mind after the purple evening haze swallows up the Warden's small silhouette.

 

Please don't do that. Please. Because if you kiss me again, I will have to kiss you back. Longer. Harder. Fiercer. And where will that leave us?

 

 


End file.
